What Once was Lost
by WastefulWaif
Summary: After an altercation at the town line, Belle is in the hospital. Sans memories. Dr. Whale explained it would be normal for her to have conditioned responses. Feelings without context. None were more powerful or more curious than her reaction to Mr. Gold. [Updated. AT Set around 2x14.]
1. Part I

**Title: **What Once was Lost

**Summary:** After an altercation at the town line, Belle is in the hospital. Sans memories. Dr. Whale explained it would be normal for her to have conditioned responses. Feelings without context. None were more powerful or more curious than her reaction to Mr. Gold.

**Author's Note:** Set around season 2 just after Gold left for NYC; will depart from canon. Rating may fluctuate. It's been a few years since I've written anything. Please be gentle. :)

* * *

Senses seemed to return one by one as she awoke in Storybrooke General. Belle blinked through the painful white haze that was her vision and began to take in her surroundings. It was so bright. Sunlight bled through plastic blinds to illuminate glittering screens of the plastic machinery next to the plastic bars of the plastic bed. Gradually noise filtered in to more recognizable clutter: the beeping of machinery, the smacks of shoes on bright white tile, the gentle rustle of conversation occasionally cut by fuzzy summons through the intercom. As she breathed the unnatural clean of the hospital almost stung in her nostrils. The pale yellow gown felt insufficient under ragged blankets and goosebumps slowly formed as the body heat generated from her slumber gently evaporated. Her throat felt dry from thirst. She licked her lips and reached for the water pitcher beside the bed. As she sat up, an IV chord resisted against her skin and she felt the plastic of the ID bracelet. She poured the water into a cup and upon pressing it to her lips was pleasantly surprised by how sweet the cool liquid tasted as it slaked her thirst. She was beginning to feel more awake.

In spite of the many confusing developments over the past few days, Belle was sure that she was not a morning person.

It had been a week since her admission to the hospital and things weren't adding up.

In the beginning, she didn't know why everyone called her Belle.

"What would you prefer we call you?" Dr. Whale had asked, not seeming surprised by her objection to the title.

Her protests stopped with the realization that she didn't have an alternative to provide the hospital staff. The absence of a name had puzzled her. She didn't seem to be able to articulate anything about herself before that night. Dr. Whale didn't seem surprised.

Belle heard him summarizing to a group of strangers who had inexplicably gathered outside her room for updates on her condition. They'd huddled close together with worried expressions, but snippets of Whale's explanation floated out from the group and Belle pretended not to hear.

"…like we were before. Of course, she didn't develop her backstory nearly as well as the other people in town. If Belle had no memories or loved ones, she won't feel as much of a connection to Storybrooke…no drive to join the town. So she would stay. It's simple really. If Belle didn't ask questions, didn't even have questions to ask, Belle would have no reason to leave the asylum."

At the word "asylum" Belle's mind conjured up the poorly lit 6-by-8 feet room, limited human interactions, and the ambiguous passage of time. She would never go back. Dr. Whale had said fewer questions meant a decreased likelihood of leaving that place. So Belle didn't stop asking questions.

**How had she come to be here?**

Belle's consciousness had faded in and out that night. She remembered cold, wet pavement, pain, and the realization that she was bleeding. She remembered the look of panic on the older man's face. She remembered his healing touch. A speeding car. A ball of fire.

Ruby stressed upon visiting that the medication administered to Belle could have strange side-effects. _But if Belle hadn't been injured, why was Belle given medicine? _And why was she now in the hospital?

...Were they going to lock her up again? In fact:

**Who was she?**

Belle tried as hard as she could to remember. Maybe establishing a firm identity, a place where she could go, a contribution she could provide to the town would be the key to staying out. She racked her brain for answers ad nauseum. Apart from that night, memories felt like providing letters in a spelling bee. Vague. Factual. Without feeling.

Belle was admitted to the asylum when she was only a girl. She would receive three meals per day. No one was to speak to her. Time would occasionally be broken by strangers glancing in on her through a thin panel in the door...or...

Had that...

If she tried too hard she grew confused and it felt as if her brain was to shatter in to a million pieces, bits scattering like shards of broken glass from a broken mirror. As dizzying as it was, the question of her identity wasn't the query she dreaded most.

**Who was that man?**

"Mr. Gold" he had been called. The man who had been with her that night. The man who hovered by the door when he wasn't in the room. The man with fire.

The sleek and polished exterior clashed so severely with his words. His speech was frenzied. He spun elaborate tales of past connections, his breathless whispers coalescing to images of strange lands. He confused her, infuriated her. Urged her to look at different objects. Came in while she slept to smooth her hair or straighten sheets and refill the water pitcher. He was a man who many seemed to fear, who few could compel to leave her side. But she could always push him away.

He'd look so hurt.

Dr. Whale explained in one of her early examinations that Belle may have "conditioned responses" to different places, to different things, or to different people. Reactions to familiar stimuli. Feelings without context. What frightened her more than any other aspect of Mr. Gold's visits was the overwhelming typhoon of feeling. Her hands shook. Her legs felt weak. Her palms were sweaty. Each breath caught in her throat. Every part of her hummed and her stomach flooded with battery acid.

Mr. Gold. The man with fire.

She'd need to avoid the bizarre things he requested, his strange vocalizations. Charms, castles, chipped cups. How could they be true?

And yet, as much as she fought him to leave and take his eccentricities with him...there was almost electricity each time he acquiesced and backed out of her room. It was like pulling apart magnets: there was a force, an attraction, and time itself turned to jello until he was through the door. The day he pushed the tiny teacup in to her hands, they'd touched. When their fingers brushed together it was like two wires completing a circuit and she felt an electric shock through her whole person. She threw the cup away to rid herself of the sensation. None of it made sense. She needed it gone. She needed him out.

Dr. Whale's entrance snapped her out of her habitual contemplation. Whale clicked his pen and flipped through the rainbow of papers pinned to his clipboard.

"Good morning, Belle. How are you feeling today? Do you have any pain?" The same three questions he asked each morning. She smiled up at him, her dark brown curls rustling as she shook her head no.

"I'm feeling very good, Dr. Whale. When may I leave?" The same conversation each morning. Dr. Whale always winced and glanced at the door.

"Soon. We'd like to keep you for observation." They assured her she would owe nothing; Mr. Gold spared no expense for her care. The revelation of her benefactor naturally provided little comfort. After delaying her release, Whale would summarize numbers that meant little to Belle, and execute a few pokes and prods before a hurried exit.

As much as the slow awakening and brief encounters with Whale were becoming a regular dance over the past week, there was an obviously missed cue. Gold had not come around in two days. Others stopped by with good wishes or gifts without warning. Gold was almost like clockwork as visiting hours began. Arrived at 9am for five days. Then nothing.

Belle bit her lip and glanced at the clock before watching the door.

Day eight overall.

9am.

Day three with no Gold.

She should feel relieved. Not...


	2. Chapter 2

**Title: **What Once was Lost

**Author's Note:** I'm kind of excited about this and found that I had more time today, so...BOOM, two more pages! Thank you to my generous reviewer! :D

* * *

As much as Storybrooke General was a well-oiled machine, day ten of Belle's stay was very different.

"Good morning, Belle. How are you feeling today? Do you have any pain?"

Dr. Whale's morning check-up, always the same. Knowing the answer to her next question, she shook her head and smiled before asking anyway. "I'm feeling very good, Dr. Whale. When may I leave?"

"Excellent. I'll discharge you later this afternoon. Now the results from—"

Belle was shocked. She registered that Dr. Whale was likely summarizing her latest blood draw, but she didn't make out any words through the drone of his voice. As much as she had wanted to leave, she hadn't really prepared a sense of where to go. What had they been holding her to observe, and why was today any different than the last ten days she felt fine? By the time she found the words to ask, Dr. Whale had moved to the next exam room. Belle opened and closed her mouth a few times, sighed, and cocked her head to the side. It seemed silly now that she'd had no hope to be discharged one day. Of course hospitals didn't keep patients indefinitely.

But then why...

A light cough caught Belle's attention. Mr. Gold in the doorway.

He looked as sophisticated as ever with his crisp suit and shiny black cane. The cane stood in front of his legs and he balanced both hands on its top, watching her. She felt his eyes travel over her, a thorough examination that screamed of overwhelming care. His attentions were uncomfortable. She swallowed back a lump in her throat; as with every time she was in Gold's presence Belle felt strange. To distract herself from his search and her sensations, Belle's eyes drifted to the wall. The familiar aversion led to a prickle of curiosity.

Her eyes darted to the wall clock.

9am sharp.

"Belle—" he paused, seeming to catch something. His tone became warm and measured.

"Ms. French," each word that followed seemed chosen with considerable deliberation. Much more structured than his previous approaches. "I must apologize for my conduct. I hadn't considered how very confusing this…adjustment must be for you. It has been reinforced for me by recent events that I am a very selfish man."

Adrenaline was coursing through Belle. As he was speaking, Mr. Gold had taken a few steps closer to the hospital bed. He was close enough that she could reach out and touch him. Her fingertips tingled with the realization. She could smell his cologne and it was almost sickeningly sweet.

"As important as you are to me, I realize," he paused and swallowed, "I realize now that I cannot force you to remember. And that you may never…want…" He brought a shaking hand to his forehead and closed his eyes. After the momentary pause he let out a breath; the hand returned to Gold's cane and his eyes were open.

"All this is to say that I'm sorry if I frightened you," Gold was much more composed. "It may not make sense to you, but I do care very deeply for you. And if you ever find that there's something you need, I am at your disposal."

Tentatively she nodded. The small movement was all that Belle could manage. It seemed only his voice could cut through the sound of her blood rushing in her ears. She didn't have a name for this, and it was maddening.

With her silence, Mr. Gold turned and began to exit.

"Wait!"Belle blurted out, surprised by the request. As she questioned the origin of the exclamation, Mr. Gold turned back to her. "I…Dr. Whale told me I'd be leaving today. And…" she laughed nervously as tears welled up, "I don't know where I live."

He opened his mouth as if to answer, but Belle stopped him with her request.

"I was going to go check in a moment. But if you run in to one of the nurses as you're leaving…could you ask them to come speak with me? I'm guessing the address should be in my medical records."

"…Of course."

And in a moment, Gold was gone.


	3. Chapter 3

"I know you may want to jump back in to things as quickly as possible, but take it slow. If you feel overwhelmed it's okay to take a step back and get some rest," Dr. Whale adjusted his rainbow papers and clicked his pen. "Now. Sign here to certify I've talked you through the instructions for your discharge. We contacted your father and as soon as he's here, you'll be able to go. Do you have any questions?"

Belle was dazed. Her muscles seemed comfortable penning "Belle French," but that was the only smooth aspect of the transition. She was going out in to a word she knew nothing about. With a…father she had yet to meet. But in a very Whale way, the doctor had left before she could voice any of her confusion. Belle bit her lip. She was just going to have to adjust.

Belle stood up from the hospital bed and walked over to a chair in the corner of the room. A dry cleaning bag had been draped over the seat…Belle was told it held her ensemble from the night she was admitted to the hospital. Belle unzipped the bag and proceeded to dress herself. It was odd how actions like writing in cursive or "how to put on a shirt" came so naturally while so much basic information about her life before last week escaped her. People and places had such little significance. Yet at meal times her mouth would water at the sight and smell of the hospital tray, easily handle a fork…it seemed so backwards.

After getting dressed, Belle returned to the hospital bed and sat on its side. She opened the ziplock bag of personal effects that the nurses had dropped off and aimlessly placed objects in to jacket pockets. Belle sighed. Her legs dangled over the floor and she kicked them back and forth. She folded her arms and her fingers brushed over a hole in the jacket sleeve. Unbidden, an image of Mr. Gold materialized in her mind's eye. His smell, his slender fingers, his anguish...

"Belle!" The stranger's shout snapped Belle from her trance. He was practically panting in the doorway. Belle examined the older man: a thick coat that must protect him from a cold day. Worn jeans and sturdy boots that suggested that he was constantly on his feet. The purpose of his "Game of Thorns" cap escaped her…and why was he crying?

"Belle! I hadn't seen you since— and then today I get a call…are you hurt? Whale didn't say much – was it Gold? That BASTARD! I'll go and – I'll deal with him later. What matters now is that you're okay!" He was bound towards her with outstretched arms but stopped as she recoiled.

"Belle…what's wrong? You aren't still mad at me are you?"

Whale's instructions suddenly came back to her. "I'm sorry…are you…my dad?"

Moe French appeared struck by a lightning bolt of despair. He nodded slowly. Like many of her visitors, Moe French seemed in on a joke that Belle didn't get. "Let's take you home."

The flower truck rolled through the small town with a speed that troubled Belle's stomach. Few people were in the streets that afternoon though with the few interactions Belle was able to observe, it appeared as if everyone knew everyone in Storybrooke. Belle pulled herself away from the window and stuffed her hands in to the jacket pockets. She suddenly had an idea.

"Mr. French?" Belle asked tentatively, "I know you want me to stay with you tonight, but…is there any chance we could stop by my apartment? Just so I can get a few things."

Moe French donned a puzzled frown. Of course it could be perplexing that a woman with no memories would have an idea of the inventory at her apartment. But Moe agreed and made a few turns. Within moments they were in front of the Storybrooke Public Library. Belle turned to ask a question that Moe French answered before her inquiry.

"There's a caretaker's apartment in the back. You stay there."

Belle's lips formed an "o." She felt she should come clean before leaving the van.

"I actually…will be staying there tonight."

Moe's eyebrows shot to the top of his forehead. "Belle, you just got out of the hospital! I can't let you be by yourself–"

"Mr. French!" she interrupted. Belle took a deep breath, the words seeming to come on their own. "…Dad. I've been in the hospital for ten days. There were people everywhere. They'd wake me up at night to check in or run tests. I just…need some time alone. I promise, we can catch up soon. Just…please. For now…"

Moe seemed to embrace her request with a weary familiarity. "Do you have your cell phone…do you know what that is?"

Belle produced the phone and held it up for Moe to see.

"And you know how to use it…you'll call me if you need any help?"

Belle's nod was met by a sigh from Moe French.

"Okay. I love you."

She reached across to the driver's seat to hug Moe French. Belle broke the embrace after a few moments before opening the door to the truck, jumping down to the sidewalk, and approaching the library. On the steps of the library Belle produced the key that had proven the catalyst for the request that resulted in her night of freedom. She pushed open the heavy wooden doors and was blasted by the smell of books. Her arm moved almost by instinct to the light switch on her right and the room was instantly illuminated. Shelves upon shelves, full of books. Belle smiled at her library, closing the doors behind her.

She walked up and down aisles, her fingers skimming titles, and her grin growing wider. Her library. Truly the first thing Belle had owned in ten days. How wonderful!

She pulled a volume at random, moved to a table, and upon sitting cracked the book's spine. She brought it up to her face and inhaled, almost overflowing with glee. The book, this place, was pure bliss. She turned back to the title page and became absorbed in the words.

At thirty pages in, the door at the front of her library was shaking roughly. Someone was unlocking the door. Belle leapt from her seat, her breath caught in her throat as the wooden entrance parted. In the doorway stood Mr. Gold. He met Belle's frightened expression and winced.

"Oh. Ms. French. I don't mean to trouble you. The silent alarm was triggered, and I wanted to make sure—well. I'll reset it."

Gold was moving towards a panel behind the front desk. Belle was flushed, her knuckles turning white from as she gripped the wooden table.

Her library.

And Mr. Gold had a key.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Thank you to those of you who've reviewed, favorited, and followed this story - it's very encouraging! :D


	4. Chapter 4

**Title**: What Once was Lost

**Author's Note**: It's always tough for me to decide between header and footer notes, because I don't want to disrupt the rhythm of a reader. Thank you again to those of you who are interacting with this story...I hope you enjoy! :)

* * *

"Why are you here?" Finally finding her voice, Belle decided to confront Gold's latest violation of her personal space.

"The alarm, dearie. You set it off when you came in to the library. I can show you how to disarm it."

"Not…I mean, _you!_ Why are _you _here! Of all people, you're the one here to disarm—" Belle sputtered and threw ambiguous gestures towards the front of the room. She brought her arms back down to her sides, and puffed angrily. "This is where I live!"

"Okay, I can see that you're upset. I can go out and—"

"No, you're going to stay right where you are! You said you weren't going to force me to try and remember…remember whatever is you think I should know. And now you barge in here, and…and…" The words had abandoned her again and despite her best effort, Belle was trembling.

The glint in Gold's eye was something very different than what she had seen before. He began a slow advance towards the table that stood in between them, like a crocodile skimming through a swap. Calculating. Hungry. Gold spun his tone into silk.

"Ms. French. If I may explain—"

"No-STOP!" At Belle's shout Mr. Gold's gloved hands had snapped up, palms forward and cane dangling on his thumb. Her heart beat wildly within her chest. Breathing deeply, Belle clenched her fists together, clenched her eyes shut and pointed her head directly towards the ground. With a hard exhale, she was able to stand tall and calmly clarify her command. "…You can explain yourself. Just don't come any closer. Stay. Right. There."

He nodded slowly, lowering his arms. Stiff, gloved fingers curled together deviously upon impact with his cane, locking his limbs in front of his chest. Power itself seemed to radiate off of Mr. Gold.

"Belle," she cringed at his lapse in formality, "I own this property and like many others in my possession, I installed a security system to alert me in the case of any unauthorized entry," Gold looked up and gestured to the air, the manufactured nature of the casual gesture negated when his eyes locked on her like acquiring a target. "During your time in the hospital I did acknowledge that you may not want to remember who you are. But I must correct you: the only promise I made was to be at your disposal should you find there was something you needed."

This was infuriating.

"Fine," Belle seethed. "You promised to be at my disposal if there was something I needed? What I need are answers."

As if this change was unexpected, Gold tilted his head with a quizzical frown. Either torn or mulling something over, the pause did not reflect his considerations. His words almost danced. "Perhaps, before I indulge you dearie, you could answer a question of my own. During many of our…encounters of late, you made it quite clear that you were not terribly receptive to my explanations. What makes you interested in my answers today?"

It may have been a power play, but regardless: it was a good question. Belle didn't fully understand her own curiosity or his morbid fascination with her. Whatever he'd have to say could hardly be verified. But perhaps understanding how Gold wanted her to perceive her situation could inform Belle's attempts to expel him from her life. Belle cleared her throat and stood up straighter to hold her ground.

"No. I don't need any more games. You'll answer my questions, or I'll call the police."

"Not to get too technical," again the message a departure from Gold's cadence, "But we never did get around to finalizing a leasing agreement. I would caution you, Ms. French, that the sheriff's office may not be in any position to provide you with an outcome that you desire. But no matter. Ask away, and I will give you answers."

The additional complications of their entanglement were frustrating if true. Frowning at the silver key on the table, Belle wondered whether an established businessman like Mr. Gold made a habit of letting young women live in his properties without a lease or whether he was so desperate to avoid police that he would concoct a strange scenario. It was a good starting point for Belle's interrogation.

"Mr. Gold, do you always follow up personally when an alarm on one of your many properties is triggered?"

"I do not." His answer was swift, short, pointed. Belle would need to choose her words with care.

"I assume following up on disturbances would be the sheriff's responsibility. Why did you come here instead of alerting the sheriff?"

"Sheriff Swan…is in New York City. She is hardly equipped to arrive in a timely manner. This library and the adjoining apartment are very important to me. Truthfully, I would not want your home to be ransacked upon your return."

"But you require a cane to walk. Even if Sheriff Swan is gone, wouldn't someone from the sheriff's office be better equipped to deal with…_whoever_ had come to ransack the apartment?" Her suggestion was met by a scoff.

Gold turned his head away from her, sneering and barely repressing a laugh. Twisting his tongue in his mouth, when Mr. Gold returned Belle's gaze the danger that shot of from his expression made Belle's blood run cold.

"I think you may already have suspicions that such an assessment may not be _entirely_ accurate."

The panic was crippling.

_The man with fire!_

Belle collapsed in to the chair she had abandoned, pressing her forehead in to her hands. Her head screamed with almost blinding pain. Gold cried out and in violation of their agreement bolted towards her. His hands grasped his shoulders, pulling Belle in to his chest. All resolve drained, she helplessly looked up in to eyes that were filling with tears. Shaking his head, Mr. Gold whispered sweet nothings that Belle couldn't piece together. They had not been this close to each other since the night she was shot. The physical ambivalence produced by his embrace was a nightmare. She wanted to bury herself in his shoulder and sob, she wanted to rip herself out of his arms, she wanted to scream.

As the inferno of initial contact faded to a simmer, Belle was struck by a gaping hole in her observations. Dread sunk in to her stomach like a lead weight. A bitter taste filled her mouth.

"My father…when he heard I was in the hospital…he thought you had hurt me."

Gold's retort was instantaneous. "Never! I would _never_ raise my hand to you. You make me a better man. When I thought you were lost forever…Belle…you are my miracle!"

A whirlwind current flew between them, a blaring silence like a calm before an explosion. Gold removed his gloves and tossed them on the table. His bare hand ghosted over her hair, starting from the top of her scalp and traveling down, stopping to squeeze the intersection of her neck and shoulders. The soothing effect was bewildering.

And revolting.

And incapacitating.

Belle's could barely a whisper.

"You came to see me every day like clockwork and then you…stopped. And then you…came back. You were different." Her last question was so quiet it evaporated like a sigh.

"…What happened?"

Mr. Gold stood up to pull out the other chair at the table. His movement broke the spell and Belle had a few moments to blink and reorient herself. They sat in silence for a few moments before Gold spoke.

"I have a son. I shattered entire worlds to be reunited with him, and he was unable to forgive me. He's recently learned he was a father and wanted the chance to meet his child, but away from me and my…influence. Bae…my boy, said something," Gold finally met her stare. "He told me that by investing in gathering power I became like the Sun. I could control the orbit of planets and shape the trajectory of an entire solar system…but that nothing can withstand the heat of the Sun. Anything that gets too close burns. And dies." His voice cracked and Gold hung his head in shame.

Belle reached across the table, wrapping her fingers over his hand.

Mr. Gold.

The man with fire.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note**: Thank you, as always dear readers, reviewers, favoriters, and followers! I hope you enjoy this latest installment. :D

* * *

Gold had turned his palm upward and was clutching her hand hard, almost desperately. Belle's thumb gently traced a path from his wrist to his knuckles, back and forth. Gold's skin felt soft and warm. Though Belle was looking down at their hands she could hear his breathing becoming more regular.

Finally she spoke.

"It sounds like you're someone who always needs to be in control of things. The way you were fighting for that meeting with your son, or trying to…talk with me," she looked up from their hands. Gold looked like a man who had been lost in the desert and finally found his oasis. "It doesn't sound like that control really gets you what you want. …Maybe sometimes, we just have to let go and hope we end up where we belong."

Gold sighed and turned away from her. Wheels seemed to turn in his head, digestion of her statements and pondering numerous replies. Belle really began to look at him. It was strange how the man was so put together but with such rough edges. His dress was meticulous and formal while he kept his hair longer and seemed to always have hints of whiskers. Each time they spoke she had seen his words evolving, fluctuating wildly from crafty and disciplined to passionate and emotional. Gold was just so…_layered_.

His calculations coming to an end, Mr. Gold grew very solemn, squeezing her hand hard and then setting it free.

"You may be right Belle," Gold murmured, bringing his elbows to the table, interlocking his fingers and resting his chin on his hands. "Tell me…letting go and hoping you end up where you belong. Has that worked well for you? How much do you remember about your life…before that night with the car?"

Belle paused, leaning back in her chair to think.

"Well…"

Belle had been doing all she could to forget the asylum. She closed her eyes, trying to put herself back in that room. Life seemed dark and bleak. In place of hope, there was routine. Belle was the only person in the world. All other humanity consisted of the hands that brought her food and the eyes that stared in at her. Most days were dreary, and she felt…empty. Belle snapped her eyes open, trying to fill herself with her library instead of that horrible place.

"I was in the hospital."

"And then what?" Gold pushed gently, "I suppose you became a town librarian. This address was in your medical records. When did you leave the hospital?"

Belle opened her mouth to answer, but frowned when she realized that piece was missing. Three meals were deposited daily, the eyes were less predictable. Time had no significance, because nothing was always happening. Nothing was her everything. Getting out was…

She…

Wait.

"How did you come to be in the hospital?" Gold leaned in to examine her expression. "Did your father take you there? Did Moe French ever come to visit you, when you were there?"

Belle was admitted to the asylum when she was only a girl. She tried to think of her father, Moe French the flower shop owner. He had dropped her off at her library this afternoon. He had been very patient and trusted Belle when she asked for space. Kind, trusting, Moe French. Did he ever...? Belle's head began pounding; she pushed her forehead in to her hands.

How did she get...?

Belle was admitted to the asylum when she was only a girl.

"Belle?"

Belle was on the verge of tears. As she tried to examine her memories and the inconsistencies that obviously existed, she would remember an image here or fact there…and bright white light. Maybe she felt dizzy because she was hungry. Come to think of it, when had she eaten last? It must be close to dinner time by now. Perhaps Belle could eat with Moe French. Maybe then her father would feel happier about Belle sleeping alone in the library apartment. That would be such a nice gesture. It would be rude to call anyone with Mr. Gold here, and Belle would need some time to get ready. No point in beating around the bush. She had entertained Mr. Gold long enough.

"I think it's time you left," Belle announced. "I really need to get settled back in. I wouldn't want to trouble you again, so I'll need to know how that alarm works. Can you show me how to use it before you go, Mr. Gold?"

Gold's smile seemed sad, but he nodded quietly. He reached for the gloves that were deposited on the table, taking them in one hand. It seemed then that he noticed her abandoned book. A smile crept across his lips. "What were you reading Ms. French?" He returned the gloves to the table and picked up the volume, marking her recent page with his finger and turning it to look at the title on its spine.

"Oh, it was the first thing I touched. Something about travel," Belle chattered happily, standing up. "I'll put it back in its place and then you can show me the alarm."

"915.63," Gold whispered.

Belle stopped, puzzled by Mr. Gold's foreign expression. "Is something wrong?"

Gold looked up at her quickly, his smile wide and bright. "You've been so patient with me, Ms. French. Please let me do you the kindness of returning to this book to its proper place. Head over to the alarm and I'll be with you shortly."

Belle complied, nearly skipping to the front desk with the image of the approaching dinner dancing through her brain. Nearly one day out and not a single crisis. Gold left in a flash after she grasped the method to correctly direct the alarm system.

Humming a directionless tune, Belle navigated her cell phone's address book to reach her father. Moe seemed delighted by the dinner invitation and said he would be heading right over. Belle returned to the table to push in all the chairs when she caught sight of something curious.

Mr. Gold had departed so quickly, he had forgotten his gloves.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: ** I am BEYOND thrilled with how this arc actually turned out. But I still want to see this story through! I'm in the process of searching for a new job, so interviews and cover letters have been eating most of my time. It was great to come back today for the upload and see the reviews/follows/favorites. And I hope you enjoy the chapter!

* * *

Stumbling through the caretaker's apartment for a change of clothes, Belle learned more about herself. (Or…who she had been?)

It was small – a living/dining room that flowed in to a kitchen, a door that led to a a bedroom, and a tiny bathroom with a sink and a shower. Furniture almost seemed too big for each room: a round table by the door with two wooden chairs. A couch and loveseat towards the wall with an end table and lamp next to the couch and a small coffee table in front of the loveseat. A full-size bed in the backroom, large closet, a wooden desk, and dresser. Enough for one person to live, maybe entertain a friend or three. It smelled sweet, like vanilla. Everything very tidy.

Opening the dresser in the bedroom, Belle arbitrarily selected a navy blue sweater from one drawer and some white jeans from another. The clothing was plain and warm. Like the apartment. Belle chewed her lip and looked around again. Was she a minimalist, or did she spend a lot of time out on the town? Shrugging off the thought, Belle felt disturbed by the stillness of the caretaker's apartment and grabbed a jacket from the closet before heading back out to the library to wait.

After a few moments the phone in her pocket hummed with a message from Moe. He was outside. Belle skipped up to the front desk to tinker with the alarm system before leaving. She paused half-way to the door, remembering Gold's gloves. After a moment of deliberation, she returned to the table and stuffed them hastily in her pocket.

"I'm so glad you called," Moe chattered happily as Belle hopped in to his passenger seat. "Normally I stay in and watch The Amazing Race. You'd think after being on tv so long, it would stop being so surprising but really…."

This was nice.

Belle didn't have the faintest idea about what Moe described, but the companionship was pleasant enough. It was easy enough to laugh when he laughed or throw in the occasional "Oh?" as he shifted topics from something about goat herders who traveled the country to the latest arraignment for the flower shop. Social cues got her through half a hamburger and fries at Granny's, a walk to an ice cream parlor, and a bowl of chocolate ice cream. But it was odd and empty.

"Why did you think I was mad at you?" Belle asked suddenly, disrupting a tale about something she had stopped following a few moments before.

For the first time that night, Moe French was silent. He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly for a few moments while Belle scrapped the bottom of her paper cup with a plastic spoon.

"I was hoping you wouldn't…well. We hadn't spoken for a while before your…" Moe looked away, blinking back tears. "I wanted to protect you. You've always been so independent Belle. Sometimes you just don't think things through, and you would put yourself in danger. Even when you were only a girl—"

Moe French was talking but the words were static. Belle was admitted to the asylum when she was only a girl. She cringed at the accompanying mental image. Small room. Limited furniture. Very tidy. Then she was back in reality.

"…Did you put me there?"

"What? …Put you where?" Moe blinked in confusion.

"The...I was there for…I had been..." Belle closed her eyes. Her head was swimming. She opened them after a moment because it made sense now. In addition to a tidy librarian, Belle was somehow a danger to herself. She had terrified kind, trusting, Moe French. After that moment, she had the words. Upon opening her eyes, Belle leaned across the table and squeezed her father's hand.

"You wanted to keep me safe," Belle announced slowly. "So you did what you thought was best."

Moe French looked at her with wide eyes. His mouth was slightly agape from something Belle couldn't place. She gave his hand a squeeze before continuing.

"Papa, I forgive you."

Moe French erupted in tears almost instantly. The bear of a man was on her in a snap, pressing Belle in to his chest and weeping openly. If the outburst surprised other patrons of the parlor, Belle could not tell through the jacket that was nearly suffocating her between heavy sobs. After a few moments, Moe excused himself to the restroom. He was sputtering different explanations and apologies along the way, and knocked a few chairs as he tried to clear a fast path to the facilities.

Dazed, Belle met the eyes of the teenage boy behind the counter and grinned sheepishly. Blood rushed to her cheeks. She turned towards the store's big glass window hoping to avoid further reactions to a grown man bawling in public. It was then that Belle spotted a familiar figure hobbling in to a pawn shop across the way. Her fingers went instinctively to her coat pocket, and she clutched the lump that Mr. Gold's gloves made.

Belle glanced towards the bathroom.

The store was just across the way.

And she would only be a moment.

The door to the ice cream parlor jingled lightly behind her and the cold air chomped at the exposed skin on her face. Glancing both ways, Belle dashed across the street and pulled open the door to "Mr. Gold: Pawnbroker & Antiquities Dealer."

A dazzling array of trinkets lined the shelves: musical instruments, clocks, a stuffed penguin, hunting knives…there seemed no limit on what one could discern on one shelf or another. Belle couldn't help but smile through the dust and clutter as she took a few steps forward in to the shop. Slowly, voices drifted out through a curtain on the back wall.

"You know what _I_ want. Now tell me what you want," Belle recognized the vicious growl as Mr. Gold. His tone made her shiver. But intrigued Belle walked closer to the curtain.

"I don't know you really know what you want, Gold. See, when I first found the notecard I thought your little librarian was hiding something very important to you, but I was oh _so_ surprised by what I found…" the woman absolutely purred, and Belle heard her heels clicking on the wooden floors of the shop. She could almost visualize the shoes tracing a circle around the pawnbroker.

"Go ahead. Take a guess, Rumple."

Belle had stopped now, close enough to the backroom to hear but far enough from it to escape quickly. She could feel the silence almost pulsing dangerously. After a few moments, the woman let out a devilish cackle.

"You don't _know_!? Oh, this is rich," the Devil howled.

"Whatever it is, she told me not to look. I knew it was a map, but I respected her privacy," Gold's tone was ice. "I know it's important to her, so I want it back."

"And that's why I have all the power here, Rumple. Mother told me about your little charm. If you have what someone values most, you can use it as a totem. Maybe return something else that's been lost."

"Get. To. The. _POINT._" Glass shattered and Belle jumped backwards.

"Temper, temper Rumple. Just because you own the place doesn't mean you shouldn't treat it with some respect. Now. The dagger," the Devil demanded. "You can have your little reunion, send her far away from Storybrooke, whatever you like. Then you lead us to it."

This time it was Gold's turn to laugh.

"And why would I do that, dearie? It's early in the game but you've just shown me all your cards. Now that I know you're looking for the dagger, I can hide it even better than its current location."

"Time is of the essence, Gold: Mother and I need to stay ahead of a certain pirate. It's not a matter of if the dagger's going to go missing, but when. Kill me, and Mother destroys your only chance to get your true love back. Kill Hook, and the second we find the dagger your little librarian will be the first casualty. Kill us all…well, it's highly unlikely a secret like that will stay hidden in such a small town. Do you think your pure sweet Belle takes kindly to murderers?"

The exchange was something beyond bizarre, but Belle couldn't break away. It seemed she could even hear particles of dust traveling through the air until Mr. Gold spoke again.

"You give me the totem. I get a day with Belle. You will not hurt her in any way. Then I will lead you to the dagger's hiding place."

"I give you the totem now, and you get three hours."

It was cold. The shop was dusty. Her shoes pinched her feet. Belle's heart beat against her ribcage as if desperate to escape. Her limbs shook and sweat pooled in her palms. It all vanished and there was nothing but Gold's voice.

"Deal."


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note: **I keep meaning to update but have had computer troubles and job interviews…for those of you sticking with me, I hope this new chapter was worth the wait!

* * *

Belle was surprised that a single syllable possessed the ability to make her very soul shudder. She had little time to dwell on the sensation. Crunching glass signaled that she would not be alone in the front of the pawnshop for long. Panicking, Belle slid behind a large wooden wardrobe and held her breath.

"It's so rarely a pleasure doing business with you. But I'd have to say this time–"

"You're eating away at my three hours dearie," Gold's snapped impatiently, but just as quickly as the interruption, his tone transitioned to a dangerous hiss. "That's not a particularly wise move while I still have my _power_."

Belle peeked out from behind the wardrobe. The woman was dark and lovely. She had a high-necked black coat that stopped just about the knees of her black pants. Poised was the only word that could sufficiently describe the way she carried herself through the pawnshop. Blood red lips curled in a sinister smile. And her eyes. There was something alarming…familiar….

For a moment, they were just glaring daggers at each other. But with a flick of Gold's wrist The Devil suddenly disappeared in a puff of purple smoke. Belle heard herself shriek before registering that she had done so. In a flash, Gold's eyes were on the wardrobe.

"WHO'S THERE?" Gold snarled and pounced towards Belle's hiding spot. There was no room for an escape. Belle pressed herself against the wall, clenching her eyes shut and helplessly trying to avoid hyperventilating. The wardrobe moved away roughly and she felt the lights of the shop wash over her. Even though what was said (Rumple? totems? _murder_?) made little sense, there was no way that she should have heard all that transpired. Belle braced herself for the wrath of the pawnbroker.

"…Belle?" a hand grasped her shoulder, squeezing gently as if to confirm she were real. "Sweetheart, what are you doing here?"

Surprised by his sudden saccharinity, Belle cracked open her eyes. Gold was mere inches from her. The sweet smell of his cologne was dizzying.

"I was…across the street and…" Gold's eyes were wide with concern, his hand had drifted up her neck and his thumb was drifting up and down her cheek. Almost by instinct she leaned ever so slightly into his eager caress. His long, thin fingers were warm and delicate. Belle's breath hitched in her throat and she swallowed.

"I have your gloves!" she exclaimed, turning away from him to reach into her pocket. Gold stared down at the gloves as if he couldn't comprehend what they were. Suddenly Belle felt very hot, and foolish. She stood on her toes and deposited the gloves on top of the wardrobe.

"…I should go." Belle told the floor of the shop and circled around Mr. Gold to start for the door of the shop.

"No Belle, wait!" Gold yelped and then more gently, "Please."

She stopped and bit her lip in trepidation. Seeing a woman disappear in a cloud of smoke probably wasn't a signal of strong mental health. A decline in her condition certainly accounted for some of the more eccentric elements of the exchange between Gold and the stranger. Had there been a stranger to begin with, that is. With what little Belle knew of her history, it would be wisest to return to her sobbing father and try not to further break his heart when she asked for help. As Belle looked up towards the door, Gold's voice drifted into her hearing.

"Belle, I'm glad you're here. There's something that I need to show you."

Addressing the problem earlier would stop it from getting worse. Her father had called her independent, but clarified that failing to think things through had put her in danger. Asking for help would make the most sense; break the cycle that led to her institutionalization. Then Mr. Gold was directly behind her with a hand on the small of her back. He leaned in to whisper in her ear.

"Please," he pleaded, "I won't keep you long."

Belle turned to look at him. Hope shined through Gold's watery eyes like a beam from a lighthouse. Though she was glued to the floorboards of the shop, she imagined pulling him close to her. Just to get it to stop. From what she had observed of Mr. Gold –the frightened stares of the hospital personnel, the way orderlies hesitated to remove him at his unruliest moments, Gold's unceremonious entrance into her library—vulnerability on this scale seemed out of character. A man unaccustomed to asking permission or wanting for anything, begging for a moment of an amnesiac's night hardly made any sense. Realizing that the time she spent considering him and the situation constituted a choice, Belle felt herself nod gently.

Gold smiled faintly, his hand retreated and he turned to move towards the backroom. Belle felt adrenaline coursing through her. She had to ask.

"That woman," Gold stopped in his tracks.

"She is…a nuisance." Gold's back answered. A woman had been here. The woman. Rational explanations were getting fewer and farther between. Belle's hands were shaking.

"She wants to kill me, so you were going to kill her." Belle stated. In return there was silence. Gold was turning towards her. She looked down at her trembling hands, twisting her fingers together. "You made some kind of deal, and then…?"

"Belle," he cautioned breathlessly. "You really don't need to worry about the particulars—"

"I know her," Belle confessed. Her breath escaped her in shallow puffs and she licked her lips. "I mean…she came to visit me in the hospital, and I didn't know her. But I know her now…I knew her."

"How did you know her, Belle?" Gold's voice was even, calm. Belle's head ached. In her mind, in and out of focus, she saw those eyes.

"The asylum," Belle whispered. There was a pause, like a heavy cloud. Just the two people in the cluttered shop. And then it was parted by Mr. Gold.

"What happened there?" he asked softly. Belle closed her eyes. From the gentle thumps of his cane against the floor Belle heard him returning to her slowly.

"Nothing…and that's what was awful. Nothing ever happened, no one ever came. Time must have been passing, but there wasn't any evidence of it because every day was the same nothingness." She felt hollow and numb.

"I was alone."

Images flashed before her mind: a small room, mostly vacant, very tidy. Disembodied hands that fed and wicked eyes that intermittently looked in. Belle frowned and pursed her lips together. When she opened her eyes, Mr. Gold was standing right in front of her. She had expected to see rage incarnate.

He just looked tired.

This time instinct trumped everything. After reflecting on her time as a girl the world forgot, she desperately needed the contact. It didn't matter that he had the power to summon fire and frighten The Devil herself. It didn't matter how he'd terrified and smothered her, overwhelmed and intoxicated her. Ten days, and she hadn't really felt connected to the vast majority of things that others described as hers. Belle needed to feel like she wasn't alone.

So she threw herself into the arms of the pawnbroker. Mr. Gold looked down at her, but before he could speak she had pressed her lips to his. His cane fell to the ground as he wrapped his arms around her to pull her closer to him. She reached up and wound her fingers in his hair, whimpering when he twisted his head and hungrily deepened the kiss. It was sweet and clumsy as she dug her nails into his scalp and he couldn't seem to pull her close enough.

And then she remembered.

"Rumple," Belle murmured, breaking away from him.

He jumped as if struck by lightning, eyes wide with shock.

"Oh! No…I'm sorry," Belle blinked and shook her head lightly to clear the haze of the kiss away. "It's just…the woman. She called you Rumple. Why?"


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's note: **Darling reviewers of Chapter 7, I delightfully accept the title of tease! I really appreciated your feedback on last chapter's twist…if you'd like a one-second visual of my thought process as I uploaded, you can paste this link into your browser replacing [PERIODHERE] with a period: youtube[PERIODHERE]com/watch?v=BACgwkjkAMg#t=17.3s

For realsies, y'all are wonderful. We're getting pretty close to the finish line (I anticipate about two more chapters), and there are a few more things I'm excited to throw your way. I hope you enjoy!

* * *

Upon processing her words, Mr. Gold chuckled darkly. Belle felt her brow furrow as she frowned at his response. The quiet laughter pulsed through the pawnbroker as he knelt and picked up his cane.

"Belle, you will never cease to surprise me," he brushed the sleeves of his coat and down to the pants of the trousers to smooth them. "I must admit, while I try to be above such things, I can't say it's helped my manly pride that you were pondering that as I kissed you."

Belle blushed. She had taken a lot of liberty there. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't—"

Gold shook his head with another laugh. "It's no matter. Though I can't help but…wonder where that came from."

She paused for a moment.

The man had been pursuing her relentlessly after that first night.

It was a fair question.

One that deserved an honest answer.

"I wanted to see if I could," the words grew heavy in her throat and she swallowed. "See if I felt something."

The statement hung over them and Belle could almost hear the particles of dust drifting through the shop. Mirth that had radiated off of Mr. Gold faded in to the silence.

"…Did you?" Gold whispered, a question he didn't sound completely prepared to ask. "Feel something?"

Belle looked down at the floor of the shop and licked her lips (they tasted like him). The kiss was impulsive and confusing. He had felt sharp and harsh: his lean frame firm in her grasp, his thin fingers twisting into her back, his whiskers biting her deliciously when their lips had crashed together. It was…exciting and hedonistic and wonderful. She felt more alive for having connected with him so viscerally, a sensation exacerbated by the snakes of guilt twisting in her gut, the blood pulsing throughout her body, and the near tremors that floated throughout her extremities. Reflecting on the sum of her experiences with him, she had always noticed something attractive about him. Not physically. That didn't really completely capture the concept. Gold seemed to pull on her like gravity itself. Being near him seemed to mute everything else and amplify it at the same time. It was like she saw him through a wind tunnel.

With time to think, what she had been feeling in his presence was coalescing more in to words.

Intrigue.

Dread.

Fascination.

Pity.

Mr. Gold had been looking at her almost expectantly, hopefully, longingly. He was so very lost. As before, she was an oasis in a dessert. One that was quickly evaporating. One that maybe hadn't been there at all, but was instead a mirage. The realization that her silence would be more permanent prompted him to turn on his heel towards the backroom.

"For your question: I have something of a complicated history with the woman you saw before. You could say we knew each other well, in another life. So she takes an overly familiar tone with me. As I said before, you needn't trouble yourself with the details."

Her hesitant steps whispered through the invisible tracks his determined pace had blazed. He turned and held up a hand to stop her before she was completely behind the curtain, and as she complied Gold gestured down to Belle's thin shoes.

"You should stay up here. I got impatient. There's some broken glass and I wouldn't want for you to get cut," Gold murmured. "I'll be but a moment."

As promised, he returned within a seconds with a plain wooden box. Belle followed him to the front counter, and the box connected with the top of the counter with a dull thud. Mr. Gold looked expectantly at Belle and she felt like an actress who had missed her cue. The whole presentation made him seem more like the classical magician archetype she had seen on one of the television shows that had played during her stay in the hospital.

"Eh...um...what is it?" she asked, genuinely curious but concerned that like with other elements of her recent experiences, the box was something she was supposed to know. At her question, the showman smiled softly. Apparently her ignorance proved acceptable.

"This dearie," Gold wrapped his fingers over the top of the wooden box. "Is a mystery to me as well. I have yet to open it."

"You don't know what's in there?" Belle asked, frowning quizzically. From what she had gathered, Gold had made a deal with The Devil for an object of great importance. Not an unornamented pine box of questionable contents. But he nodded. He paused for a moment and then seemed determined.

"I don't want you to think that I didn't take your advice from earlier this evening seriously. 'Let go and hope you end up where you belong.' I really was trying," a small and hollow laugh escaped him, and he paused as if choosing his words carefully. "…You know my son's not coming back?"

She had opened her mouth slightly, though Gold turned his head away from her.

"They're going to stay in New York. The boy, his mother…my son. The boy's really the reason my son spoke with me for so long. Not wanting to make a scene. And when I watched my boy, who's now a man –a better man than me. When I watched him embrace his son…it was remarkable. I was so _proud_," She felt Mr. Gold's even tone wash over her. Warm and soothing, even in woe. Belle stepped closer to him, drawn in by his tale.

"And then, as I watched my boy, I thought about all the things that I've done. To get to that moment. Things I hadn't let myself think about for longer than I care to admit. Lives I'd destroyed. People I've hurt. Before as well as after I let down the person who had mattered most to me. And I thought of you," he abandoned his hold on the box in favor of her hand.

"My mistakes have caused me to be separated from those I love," His fingers ran over her skin gently. "But maybe…I was making the right decisions. If for the wrong reasons."

His fingers were very nimble.

Working with the shop must have required him to burnish so many precious objects.

She was dismayed by his conclusions.

"Being separated from your son would be better than reconciliation?" she said quietly. His gentle strokes were soothing. "…I don't know that."

Mr. Gold turned to look at her and he smiled sweetly. He brought his free hand to her face, and tilted her chin up gently while inclining towards her ever so slightly. For a moment he just looked at her intently, like when she was in the hospital. It felt different this time. Then if catching himself, he turned back towards the small box on the counter.

"The book you were reading tonight, in the library. It wasn't the first time I saw you with it," Gold confessed. "Once before...your accident, I came to pick you up for lunch and you were working on the same title. I offered to return it with you, but you refused. You told me there was something you wanted to keep just for yourself. It was strange. In an endearing way, of course. So I promised not to look."

"You think that box was something I wanted to hide?" The whole idea that she may have been repeating actions, conversations, experiences without her awareness was…bizarre. Unsettling.

Gold shrugged. "If it was important to you, by looking you may be able to regain your memories."

How would it be possible to gauge whether forgotten memories would be worth recovering without knowing said memories? The past few days had been confusing. As much as she cautioned Gold against believing that people he cared about would be better off without him, taking that step to remember would require a lot on faith. Faith that he had been truthful with her. Faith that the stranger things she had observed were grounded in reality. Faith that whatever she was consenting for the man with fire to undertake wasn't an elaborate plot to hex or otherwise harm her.

"…I don't know if I'm ready." Belle mumbled.

"If you'd like, I can look first." Mr. Gold offered.

What would it hurt for him to look? She nodded, and inclining the box out of her line of sight Mr. Gold cracked the lid. Through the range of emotion she had observed in him, it was astonishing to see the way his face lit up.

"Belle, I think we'll need to make a short trip. I will not force you to remember. Traveling will give you some time to consider what you would like. But I think…I do think we have something here that could help you. If that's what you decide you want."

Belle had gone this far down the rabbit hole. Mr. Gold had promised he wouldn't force her to examine the object. If she changed her mind, the town was small enough that she could break away easily. Especially with Gold's limp. A small trip wouldn't require much more.

As she followed Mr. Gold out of the pawn shop and into the cold, the stillness of the small town was striking.

And she almost immediately locked eyes with Moe French.


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note: **Thank you for your feedback on the last chapter – I'm glad that there's been some suspense throughout and I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint! ;) I have maybe three different ideas for how to end this, and I'm a little conflicted with each.

No spoilers here, but: OMG. The Lacey episode. I'm feeling too many things! What did you think, dear readers?

* * *

Moe French had been standing underneath a street light that easily illuminated his imposing figure and the logo of s sheriff squad car. Belle noticed her father as Mr. Gold was locking the shop. Surprise, recognition, and relief washed over Moe French's features as he broke away from conversation with a tall, pale man and walked in to the street. The expression on her father's face snapped to something sinister when Belle's companion turned around. Mr. Gold checked his watch and swore under his breath at the florist's approach. Belle felt an arm wrap around her waist as if to stabilize her before an oncoming storm. At the contact, she felt the pawnbroker's breathing begin to slow. Maybe holding on to her was more to manage himself than a protective gesture…

Moe French was less reserved.

"GET AWAY FROM HER GOLD!" Her father's bellow nearly made her jump out of her skin and she latched on to the lapels of Gold's coat. Belle glanced upwards and saw Mr. Gold grinding his teeth.

"Mr. French, I'm not really in the mood for explanations," Gold spoke quickly and his voice sounded strained. "You'll just have to trust I have Belle's best interests in mind. We really must be going." Though he followed his statement with a parting nod, Belle couldn't help but notice that Mr. Gold hadn't made any motion to leave.

"Oh no you don't!" Moe French was halfway through the intersection; the pale man from the squad car was not far behind. "Darling, come with me! Mr. Gold has never been any good for you—"

"Belle, are you okay?" the stranger cut in and moved in between Moe French and Mr. Gold, likely in an effort to defuse the situation. Given the way that Gold tensed up at her father's voice, it was a wise intervention. "My name is David Nolan. I'm acting sheriff. Your father called to say that you were missing?"

Belle blinked and shook her head. "No, I just—"

"What was I supposed to think!?" Moe French interrupted hotly. "You left your cell phone behind!" he brandished the device wildly to drive the point home. "You have no idea how worried I was!" Moe had begun to move towards her again but was stopped as Mr. Gold began to speak.

"A missing person is what you were called for, Mr. Nolan? Well, as you can see: Belle clearly isn't missing. All is well. You can run along now." Gold's voice was deceptively sweet. Quick and terse. Hardly disarming. Belle could feel tension swimming through the air like a heat wave, heightened when her father began shouting again.

"Belle, being out at night. It isn't safe! I won't leave you alone! Especially not with…with _him_," Moe French spat in the direction of Mr. Gold.

The pawnbroker's resolve didn't hold.

"And I suppose she's much safer with you, _Moe French_," Gold mimicked her father's inflection, creating more of a statement than a question. His arm slipped off of Belle as he took a step towards her father. "Maybe she would be now since you got what you wanted. Belle, did your father TELL YOU about how he took you away? How he _wanted _for you to lose your memories?" Gold's voice was acid. Though his words were directed to her, he hadn't taken his eyes off her father. Belle didn't have time to think as the next accusation because Moe French snarled immediately.

"IT WOULD BE EASIER NOT TO WORRY ABOUT THE SAFETY OF MY LITTLE GIRL IF YOU HADN'T NEARLY BEAT ME HALF TO DEATH!" Moe French howls echoed through the street. Lights were beginning to flicker on across the quiet alleyways.

"You broke into my shop and stole what was most precious to me, Mr. French. And here we are again." Mr. Gold sneered. "I must not have beat you hard enough to bring the lesson home!"Belle felt tears rising against her eyelids.

"I won't allow her to leave with you again, Gold!" Moe French resumed his forward march.

"And what can you **possibly** do to me, dearie?" Gold held his ground. Even with hands locked over his cane he appeared poised to strike. Her advancing father. The excess of bad news. Gold's overwhelming eagerness. It was all too much sensory input.

"Now hold on!" David Nolan's voice wasn't nearly as loud as the rest of the exchange, but easily cut through the argument and silenced the shouting. He had leapt between the two titans and spread his arms out between them to create an artificial barrier. When Moe had stopped moving, the hands came down.

"Belle," The acting sheriff turned and faced her. "You can go with either of these guys, you can go with neither. I'm here for you. To help. What do you want to do?"

Belle felt under a spotlight as all attention was turned on her. A few more adventurous residents of Storybrooke had gathered at the other side of the street, necks craning curiously to rubberneck the train wreck. Belle tried to take some mental inventory of everything she had realized that day, but it was hard to keep track of all the bad blood. Her fingernails dug into the palms of her hands and she breathed in and out deeply before she was ready to speak.

"I…I don't know," Belle confessed.

It was the worst possible admission because it produced a lightning strike of activity. David Nolan had jumped in front of Moe French, trying to hold the older man back. Their shouting blurred together to an incomprehensible cacophony. The observers were whispering and gesturing furiously. It was freezing in the darkness. But her face was growing hotter. Concepts of the sins those closest to her had committed all bled together. Before her tears escaped, Mr. Gold had pivoted so he was right in front of her. His hands reached up to rest on her shoulders for a moment before he pulled her close. She leaned in to his warm embrace; in a moment it was over and his mouth was at her ear.

"Belle, I'm sorry," though he whispered through the chaos, she easily tuned in to his gentle brogue. "I will not lie and say that I have always made the right decisions. You are the most extraordinary woman. Tonight my pride got the best of me and I let you down. ...Please. I want to be able to retrieve your memories because I…" he shot a sideways glance to the near-brawl between her father and the acting sheriff, "We…are not the only ones who lost you."

Mr. Gold needn't explain further. Belle understood. She had felt so numb to most things. Whale had cautioned her to be patient, take things slowly. But with few exceptions, she had been feeling the world in sharp spikes of anxiety followed by nothingness. Going with Gold had a certain element of danger…but she was exhausted and almost didn't care if she ended up hurt.

"Will you come with me?" he whispered nervously.

The way he touched her like she was crystal. His constant check-ins. Even the shocking extent of his conflict with her father. All she had experienced from him pointed to a deep caring, near-reverence for the woman she was. Seeing the dust in his shop and the rough spots around his edges had taught her that Mr. Gold fixated on objects or paid them little mind. It was bizarre but obvious that she was in the former category.

The minimal risk that a man who worshiped her would cause her pain was a better alternative to the monotonous hum that was her absence of sensation.

"Yes," Belle consented.

"Yes?" he asked again and when she nodded her confirmation, Gold pressed his lips to her forehead.

"Maybe if I do the brave thing then bravery will follow," Belle murmured as he released her.

Mr. Gold paused for a moment, looking at her with something she couldn't place. It didn't last because a particularly loud shout from her father snapped him out of his trance.

"My car is this way," he explained.

As she followed him, she saw Gold gently pat the breast of his coat to ensure the mysterious box still rested in his inside pocket.


	10. Chapter 10

Underneath the hood of Gold's car, the engine growled like an alley cat. Talk radio hummed quietly over the rumble of the vehicle. Belle sat in silence. Though her eyes were fixed on the dark road ahead, Gold's anxious sideways glances registered faintly in her peripheral vision. The pedestrian nature of the drive provided an incredible contradiction to the collision between Moe French and Mr. Gold. During the ride Belle's thoughts drifted in the companionable silence until they pulled off on the side of the road.

Gold seemed to be waiting for her question, but Belle continued to look into the inky blackness that resulted from powered-down headlights. Finally he spoke.

"Can you forgive me?" his voice was soft and thin, "...For what I did?"

"I'm not upset." Belle replied hollowly, unintentionally mirroring his near-whisper. On some level, Belle was disappointed that she hadn't felt utterly disgusted by the feud outside of the pawnshop. After the long day of odd revelations, she couldn't manage more than an all-encompassing weariness. She heard him turn to face her and listened as he shifted in his seat for a few moments. Then tentatively, his arms snaked out from the driver's seat and pulled her in to him. She buried her face in his jacket and could hear his shaky breathing.

"I did it because…I thought he had shut you out. That you were gone forever," his body heat radiated out through his layers of clothing. "I cannot tell you what it meant to have you back. You were always so much more than I deserve. And then…"

His voice had cracked. Tension hung in the air of the small cabin. Belle's hands drifted up to grip his coat. Then her fingers were winding on the back of his neck. Gold leaned in to kiss her, gentle and deep. He seemed eager to press as deeply as he could in to her. He was warm and tender, and she whimpered against his lips. Belle's reaction was singular.

It felt intimate.

As the kiss tapered off he pressed his forehead into hers with fingers tangled in her hair.

"We should go," he whispered as his breathing grew more even.

"How much farther?" she asked, again whispering though there was not another soul for miles around.

"We'll be getting out here. Then a very short walk."

Uneven terrain abounded. Belle both heard and felt the snapping of twigs and leaves as their exhales danced in the cold Maine air. Despite his handicap, through his ability to both choreograph firm footing with his cane and guide her through the thick forest Gold proved miraculously agile. They hadn't been walking for long before they reached the clearing. A cloud shifted away from the moon and the glowing orb illuminated a dilapidated well. Releasing her hand, Mr. Gold meandered to the well's edge, withdrew the box from his pocket, and deposited it on the ledge.

"The waters of this well have the ability to restore and return what once was lost," he quietly explained as she approached the edge of the well. He watched her closely. Hesitantly, she nodded. Pulling at a rope line, Gold began dragging a bucket to the surface.

"Belle," he narrated over the gentle creaks of the pulley, "When I saw this I realized I had been thinking more of myself than what may have meant the most to you –"

"Oh stop!" she exclaimed and through the darkness she could make out his quizzical expression, and the bucket balancing precariously on the well's stone edge. She puffed angrily and moved closer to Mr. Gold. "You say these things: 'you're more than I deserve.' But they're hardly true. You _care_…so much! It blinds you, it overpowers you, and the things you love become the only things that matter. I didn't understand…before. Now. Now I do. You're only human, Mr. Gold."

Belle's wrapped her hand over his on top of the box. She kissed him briefly on the cheek and lifted the lid. Inside was a laminated dried rose. Just large enough to serve as a bookmark. Gold leaned over her and removed the dried flower from the container.

"What I meant," Gold purred, peeling the plastic away from the plant, "was that I didn't realize that maybe the moment I ascribed such importance to did not have the same impact on you." He dipped his fingers in to the bucket of water. A few shakes of his digits and the flower sprang to life. Fresh and red. He pulled her hand up and pressed it to his lips. Then with a flourish he withdrew the rose and took a step back.

"For you," he presented it to her with an extravagant bow. "If you'll have it."

Belle reached for the rose and plucked it gently from his outstretched arm. Her stomach practically cartwheeled. Pressing it to her nose, she inhaled lightly for the smell. It was sweet. He was hardly a beast. In that moment, Rumplestiltskin was only a man.

It was like she never forgot.

Leaving the Dark Castle, seeing the flower through her tears. Taking the keepsake with her, preserved in the pages of her books. A quiet reminder and constant companion in Regina's captivity. Transported out of the asylum in her hasty escape with the madman. A secret subtle sentimentality she hoped to keep for herself…a symbol that walking away from him had not been easy, a keepsake and poor substitute for his company.

Her true love must have seen something in her expression because within an instant he was on her. Frantically her tongue traced familiar patterns on the inside of his mouth, relishing how he held her and that everything was once again in its place.

"Rumplestiltskin! You…the deal?" though she had broken away he was sprinkling small panicked, distracting, kisses up and down her neck interspersed with small compliments, blessings, and curses in a multitude of languages that she had varied levels of familiarity with. "…Three hours? How much time do we have left?"

"Not enough." he growled, unrelenting in his ravishing. She surrendered for a moment, fingertips dancing over every part of him that she could reach and practically swooning before she gained the presence of mind to push him away and finally had words.

"You have a plan?" she inquired breathlessly.

"I promised to lead them to the dagger's hiding place," he had contented himself with embracing her tightly. She wanted to burrow inside his coat and never leave. "I made no promise that the dagger would be there."

"So, if not in this hiding place. Where will it be, then?" she asked nervously.

"Belle," he took a step back so only his hands were on her shoulders. "I'm going to give it to you. And I want you to take it across the town line. Since you have crossed before the barrier spell will have no effect. When you take the dagger over, the Dark One's curse will be lifted from the blade."

That he would abdicate magic was shocking in and of itself, but it paled to the obvious design flaw.

"But…without the curse, you'd be a man again. An ordinary man," the regent's familiar description tasted like gasoline on her tongue. "I can't leave you behind unable to use magic. They'd kill you instantly!"

"I cannot break the deal, Belle," he sounded astonishingly tranquil. "And you won't be safe if the dagger is within the town line. If there's any chance to take the Dark One's curse Regina and her mother will pursue it relentlessly."

This couldn't be true.

"Rumple, you didn't specify the way you'd lead them to the dagger! You could write a note telling them the hiding place. We've both crossed over! We could leave now and start a life far away from here!"

He shook his head. "It's too risky. Regina's wrath has always been directed at Snow White. When I'm gone she'll have no reason to go after you. But Regina and her mother aren't the only ones looking to harm me in any way possible," as his eyes darted away, she couldn't help but be awed and aggravated by his complicated relationships. "Belle, I need to stay away to keep you safe."

"Rumplestiltskin!" he really couldn't have chosen any better way to strengthen her resolve. She latched on to him and looked him directly in the eye. "No one chooses my fate but me. I promised you forever. And I intend to deliver on that promise."

As they rode together in Rumplestitlskin's car, Belle marveled again at her exhaustion.

Fatigue ripped at all parts of her.

But she was awake now and would not rest.

Whatever came next they would face it together.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Annd…that was the original end-point I had in mind as I was writing this. If it's unsatisfying, don't hesitate to let me know. Thank you to everyone who'd reviewed, favorited, and followed this story! I intend to draft more personal messages soon.


	11. Part II

**Author's Note:** Thank you for reading/following/favoriting/reviewing. Quick reasoning for the last chapter as a potential end-point and explanation for the chapters that follow. I was writing this primarily as a story about Belle regaining her memories and had accomplished that. I was kind of tickled that the story would end with ambiguity that had been a characteristic of each chapter. But I have some ideas that connect with the theme that I was pursuing and felt guilty after the few "don't stop nows." So we forge onward, dear readers, to tie up loose ends! :)

* * *

Regaining her memory was almost an underwhelming experience. It felt like the ordinary "a-ha" of recovering a name just out of reach. That everything else remained was also unsettling –the disorientation of her hospital stay, seeing her true love through another's eyes, the evil queen's plots, Rumple's son's rejection. At the thought of Baelfire, Belle looked up from the speeding pavement to the driver's seat.

Rumplestiltskin was leaning into the steering wheel as they flew through the darkness and his attention fixed on the road with a frenzied determination. His right hand was in her lap, his fingers periodically squeezing her leg protectively. As draining as the past week had been for her, she could only imagine how events had impacted him. Though Storybrooke's Mr. Gold approached many debacles with an amused detachment, beneath his surface was a swirling undercurrent of feeling. That emotional intensity allowed him to access and shape the erratic force of magic…and quite often led him to pay its price.

Belle reached down and covered the hand in her lap hoping to take some of the edge off for Rumplestiltskin. He glanced over at her touch and smiled gently before turning his eyes forward. She needed to show him she was here now. That he had an unshakable, solid partner. Questions about his time in New York swirled through her mind. Understanding his new plan was also a priority.

In all, there was too much to say.

Belle quietly stroked his fingers as in her mind she tried to navigate the things she needed to say, the things she needed to know, and the things he needed to hear. He broke the silence before Belle completed her internal inventory.

"I missed you so much," Rumplestitlskin murmured, and she felt him squeeze her leg. "Whenever there was a roadblock to recovering your memory, my first thought was about how difficult times are so much easier when I can be with you. And I'd want to talk with you. Or cook you breakfast. Or sit with you as you were reading in the afternoon."

His voice trailed off into the night and Belle felt tears pooling up behind her eyes. It hurt so much to think of him losing both people so close to him and what little support system he had.

"I'm here now," she breathed, one hand reaching up to stroke his arm. "I love you, Rumplestiltskin."

It was an offering, a hopeful analgesia. It was a fact that escaped the parameters of measurement and swelled beyond her comprehension. It was a promise of conversation and shared breakfasts and quiet afternoons. And it was greeted by a pause. In its presence near-imperceptible quiet betrayed the insecurity that ran deep from rejections that she perceived as an iceberg. As much as the man had confided far more in her than in others, Belle always sensed she had an incomplete knowledge of Rumplestiltskin's self-described "complicated history."

"Why didn't you want me to know you'd kept it?" he finally asked evenly. The rose had returned to her coat pocket and she registered its weight against her side. Belle understood how it felt to be on the opposite end of omission from the absolute volumes of things he never volunteered, and answered in spite of the irony.

"I wanted you to think when I'd left that I had been brave. Even when you weren't watching me. When I was walking through the great hall, I saw it. And I thought about how I really saw you in that moment, how that day really let me in. And every night when I had it, I remembered. I should have stayed and fought for you. But instead I left, afraid and with only a rose to remember you by," Belle's fingers glided up and down his arm alongside her confession. She was practically clawing him like a scratching post. Feeling more aware of the touch, she returned to grasping his hand. "Maybe it's why you didn't want for me to know about what happened with my father."

She heard him swallow.

"Are you angry with me?" Rumplestiltskin inquired for a second time with a weathered resolve. He was used to others' disappointment and withheld indiscretions in an attempt to bolster his better man narrative. Wanting someone you love to think better of you made sense. And she'd meant what she said.

"No. I know why you did it. I am sad that it happened. I wish that you had told me. And I can forgive you because you showed me how you've changed," Belle pressed a kiss into the sleeve of Rumplestiltskin's coat. It scratched like his whiskers. "You could have attacked my father again in the street in front of you shop. But you didn't."

She was proud. He let out a snort but didn't pull away.

"I won't say the thought didn't cross my mind. To attack a man in the street in front of the sheriff, his daughter, and a small crowd of witnesses is hardly prudent. You give me too much credit, Belle."

"And you don't give yourself enough, Rumplestiltskin."

The car had pulled off the road at that moment and she bury her head into his chest. For a moment they sat there and she breathed him in. Though he tried so often to deflect her observations, Belle knew him better than that. The invisible wall Rumplestiltskin constructed to obfuscate his intentions would always confuse her on some level, but she had learned her lesson and would keep fighting. He absent-mindedly stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head before releasing her with a little sigh.

"We're here," Rumplestiltskin announced finally. "The dagger's hiding place."


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's Note:** Hello again! I'm wrapping up at work and that's taken a lot of time. But "What Once was Lost" is not forgotten! I'm so very thankful for all the feedback I've received. It's really rewarding to be able to share this with you, and I hope you enjoy this new chapter. :D

* * *

Parking in front of the sheriff's department proved puzzling. And yet he'd said they'd arrived. Audacious. It was the only word to describe hiding a magic dagger that represented the key to the Dark One's curse in the middle of town.

Rumplestiltskin opened the driver's side door and stepped out into the night. He didn't walk far, stopping by the curb. Belle followed his lead and halted at his side. Once again the darkness was striking; the dim fluorescent station lights could barely penetrate the pitch black.

"Why here?" Belle asked, surprised to see Rumplestiltskin kneel and reach into a rain gutter rather than use magic to summon the weapon. Perhaps he recognized the simple spell may contribute to his karmic debts and wasn't taking any chances. At her question, Rumplestiltskin looked up at her with a subtle smirk that was almost a shadow of his characteristic crafty confidence.

"Locations I've selected are normally a little more remote. I'll admit that," he laughed softly, twisting his arm in the storm drain. "But when I left the town I needed a different type of protection."

"You mean this is the last place you'd expect Regina to be?" Belle extrapolated. It was clever. Hiding his power in plain sight, in close proximity to the enemies of his enemies. She took a step closer to conceal him somewhat and glanced around for signs of others as he continued to search.

It appeared they were alone.

"Yes. Here the person most likely to find it would be the 'valiant prince.' And he's hardly any threat." Belle bit her lip and glanced towards the sheriff station. The reminder of David Nolan brought her back to the shouting match in front of the pawnshop, and she wondered whether her father was spending the night in a jail cell. The twinge of guilt passed and Belle returned to the present. There would be time to make amends. Afterwards.

"I almost feel…_there_." Rumplestiltskin breathed, pulling the cloth-covered weapon out in to the open and slowly returning to his feet. Near reverently he pulled back the covering and she could make out the steel's jagged shape. Belle shivered. She felt it radiate something sinister. But soon this would all be over.

Now that they had the dagger, they could finalize a plan. They could get back on track to their forever.

Seemingly on the same note, Rumplestiltskin covered the dagger again, turned to face her, and gently pressed it in to Belle's hands. On some level the gesture was an unprecedented level of trust. The sum of their history, beginning with his suspicion of her love in the Dark Castle to his reluctance to disclose his search for Baelfire at their reunion, made it difficult for Belle to imagine Rumplestiltskin with an abundance of allies. Hers may have been the only other hands to hold the blade in hundreds of years. Looking at the symbol of his darkness made her stomach turn. So she slipped it in to the pocket of her jacket. And Belle looked at Rumplestiltskin instead.

So often watching him was like seeing her future. He was so brilliant and funny and passionate. Though he grappled with his demons as years and hurt made him susceptible to darker impulses, Belle had always sensed the good in him. But at that moment, from his haggard resolve, she still perceived something off and incomplete. Though she saw weak glimpses of his swagger from the library forward, Rumplestiltskin had not completely discarded the exhaustion and latent baggage that he'd brought back from New York. He seemed to be taking her in and after a beat sighed almost imperceptibly.

"And now," he murmured softly. "You know what you must do."

Rumplestitlskin reached into the pocket of his coat, produced his car keys, and leaned forward to kiss her softly on the cheek. By reflex Belle's fingers wrapped around them as he gave them to her though all she felt was shock.

"What? No, I…I don't understand," her voice cracked and it took all her resolve to hold back the tears that so quickly materialized. "We were supposed to be together!"

Mentally she replayed their conversation by the well. He hadn't responded to her insistence of a partnership. He hadn't made her any promises, and then a last conclusion hit her. He hadn't planned on making an escape.

Hurt, love, anxiety, frustration – she felt it all as he shook his head and confirmed her fear. Maybe she should have seen it sooner when they hadn't traveled by magic.

He had brought the car so he could send her away.

"Belle, I'm so sorry. But I can't put you in danger. I don't have anything left –" she couldn't listen.

"You have me! Your son is alive! We can go to him! There's still a chance!" Belle exclaimed desperately. She swallowed against the lump in her throat before weakly releasing her hope to him. "We could be a family…"

In him, she saw everything she ever wanted. A dream though never spoken, she'd always thought he shared. Belle felt her heart breaking as he looked away.

"You don't understand. Think about what's happened to you since you made a deal with me: you were kidnapped by Regina and held captive for twenty-eight years. You were shot by Captain Hook and you lost your memory. I've taken so much more from you than what you've willingly given me."

"No..." the quiet, wet objection was all she could manage. She tried to step closer to him but stopped when he weakly raised a hand in front of him. Though the gesture was likely to silence her, Belle felt as if it erected an invisible wall between them. The distance hurt nearly as much as his inability to see what loving him had given her.

"And with Bae…" he trailed off for a moment, sounding so weary. Though Belle couldn't say when she'd started weeping, Rumplestiltskin seemed to lack the emote above his hollow tone.

"I did this to myself," he tapped his cane softly against his bad leg by way of explanation. "To make it home to Bae. I became the Dark One to keep him from the Ogre Wars. And when I let him go it was the biggest mistake I've ever made. I knew exactly what it was to be abandoned by my father and when it came to choosing between my son and my power…"

She was aching just to hold him. It hurt indescribably that he wouldn't let her.

"It's more than how he cast me off," Rumplestiltskin disclosed. "I realized it was for the best when I saw Bae with Henry. I have no right to his forgiveness. But more than that, I can't continue to let everyone I love pay the price for my magic and for my indiscretions. Bae was right to stay away. I can't keep burning through the people closest to me. I can't stop all the forces that pursue me. And I...I can't leave another child fatherless."

She was overwhelmed by his heart. Sacrifice on that scale couldn't be the only option. She needed him. More than anything. She had to help him see what he meant to her. How they could rebuild everything he'd lost. That true love was the strongest magic of all.

She could only manage one word.

"Rumplestiltskin…" she choked in to the night and he finally he allowed her to lose herself in him. Belle kissed him desperately, pulling him as close to her as possible. Contact with his chest pushed the dagger between them closer to her. Though her eyes were closed, a foreign dampness on her cheek told her he broke. As her arms wrapped around Rumplestiltskin and she could feel him shaking. When they came apart, she pressed her head in to his shoulder and brought her arms up his spine to wipe away his tears. Holding each other seemed to soothe both of them and after what seemed like eons she finally had the strength to take a step away from him.

Breathing deeply, Belle began to feel more grounded. Her heartbeat slowed. She wiped her own eyes and tried to digest all that had happened. Before she could say anything the silence that hung between them was shattered by the sounds of approaching footsteps.

"Gold!?" Emma Swan's voice cut through the night. Belle looked up and Rumplestiltskin whirled sharply around. She was not alone. Rumpelstiltskin's sharp intake of air led Belle to suspect the stranger with the sheriff was not someone unknown.

His next utterance confirmed her deduction.

"Bae," Rumple exhaled breathlessly.


End file.
